Shadow
by SilverPhoenix-21
Summary: What happens when a toon is drawn out of anger and hate? How do you fix something you did not break? Rated for later chapters.
1. Prologue

Okay, this is my first A! fic. Ever. So please R&R! I want to know if you like it, hate it, want to see more, etc. I would really love feedback on it.

If there is a good response, I will update when I can. I'm currently working between this and an IZ fic. Chapters are probably gonna be a little shorter than what I usually do. That's just the way it's flowing right now.

Disclaimer: I don't own Animaniacs. There, I said it. And that's the only disclaimer for the entire story.

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**Shadow  
**  
**Prologue**

It was only 10:00 am and already he could feel that all too familiar migraine coming on. When he became this studio's psychiatrist, he never thought he'd be the one with headaches. But just when he believed things couldn't get any more insane, Dr. Scratchansniff found himself on his way to a rushed emergency meeting with the head of the studio. From what he'd been told, something was happening with the Warners, or at least _a_ Warner. He thought having the LAPD on the studio grounds was a bit overkill if it was only the Warners, but once he was in the meeting with the CEO and a few officers, he became even more confused. Now they told him it may not even be a Warner at all.

From what he could gather, a stray toon who greatly resembled the studio's insane trio but hardly acted like them had been taken into custody. Apparently it had been found, or rather captured, somewhere on the streets of San Diego and had been shipped off to Los Angeles, since it was believed to be from the studio.

"We believe this toon may be dangerous," an officer explained to a very non-too-happy Mr. Plotz. Scratchansniff suspected the finding of a fourth Warner had upset his boss greatly, or drove him mad, but the idea of that fourth Warner being dangerous struck him as odd. Perhaps the officer was exaggerating, as many often did with the strange siblings.

"Why do you think it's dangerous?" the doctor couldn't help asking.

The officer turned to him. "It attacked a human and injured two others."

That was odd, not to mention unsettling.

"Dr. Scratchansniff," the officer began, "Our own methods of interrogation failed miserably. It simply won't cooperate with us. We've come to believe it may be psychologically distrubed."

"Oh really?" the doctor said with a little too much sarcasm for the other man's liking. But the officer continued.

"Since you have worked with this toon's kind before, we would like you to come down to the station and have a look at it. We're hoping that you may be able to get through to it."

That didn't make sense. He never had success with the Warners before, what made them think he could cure this one?

Before he knew it, he was riding in a sheriff's cruiser to the station to meet the wayward toon. Scratchansniff was lead to the cell that held the creature. It was heavily guarded, its occupant being toon and all. Escaping probably wouldn't be much of a problem for it.

So the doctor wondered why it hadn't even bothered trying.

When he saw it, Scratchansniff could have easily believed that it was Yakko sitting in that cell. The toon may very well be a Warner. It was of the same 'species,' whatever that may have been. He could see that it was male, and though the boy resembled Yakko the most, the expression that he wore was not something the doctor ever imagined to see on the eldest sibling's face...

Hate. Utter contempt was plastered over the toon's face, but the doctor had no idea what for. The Warner, Scratchansniff decided to call it for now for lack of a better word, was sitting on a wall bench with his knees drawn up to his chest. His clothing consisted of a green-colored vest and matching pants, torn and dirty, but he had no gloves covering his black hands. The doctor also noticed a small streak of grayish fur graced the top of his head.

One of the guards unlocked the cell door and motioned for Scratchansniff to follow him inside, relocking the door behind him. The Warner watched the two men carefully, his expression faltering in just the slightest. Scratchansniff thought he saw a glimmer of something close to fear move across the boy's features. The doctor stepped forward to examine him more closely. As he did so, he noticed the boy press his back straight against the wall, his entire frame stiffening. He gave the doctor a cold, hard gaze, as if warning him to not come any closer.

From his viewpoint, Scratchansniff could see more details of the toon's body. Dear lord, he was skinny. He could see his ribs coming through his black fur, which was nowhere near as shiny and healthy looking as the other Warners'. His tail was twitching sporadically and the hairs on his shoulders bristled, almost standing completely standing on end.

The boy lowered his head and drew his arms close to his chest again. That was when Scratchansniff noticed the guard behind him had moved closer. The toon was now slightly shaking. His gaze was divided between the two humans in the room Scratchansniff suspected he was more wary of the guard than himself. Perhaps he could that fear to an advantage.

"Eh, hello dere," he smiled trying to get the boy's attention away from the guard. "What is your name?"

The other looked at him for a few moments as if studying him. Scratchansniff saw him ease up a bit, but he still remained silent.

The guard huffed. "This is all we get too. He hasn't said a word since we ca-"

"Daz..."

If Scratchansniff hadn't been focused on him, he probably wouldn't have noticed him speak. The boy spoke softly, almost in a whisper, but he kept his glare steady.

The guard shut his gaping mouth and snorted. "So he isn't a mute after all."

Something in the man's tone made the toon shrink back further, if it was at all possible. Scratchansniff didn't want to lose him now that he had come out of his shell. Ignoring the guard, he continued on. "Well, uh, Daz, I am Dr. Scratchansniff, and I have come here to help you. Is zat okay with you?" That last part sounded odd to him but he felt it best to tread lightly on this toon for the time being.

Daz turned back to the doctor. "Will you get me out of this cage?"

Though he knew the boy was trying to keep his voice even, Scratchansniff couldn't help but notice the pleading sound in his question. Was that why Daz seemed so nervous of the guard, because he thought this was a cage?

"I'll do what I can, Daz. But right now, we'll have to stay in zis room, okay?"

Daz stared at him. His once hard glare softened. Then he said quietly, "Okay..."


	2. Back in 1930

**Shadow**

**Part I**  
Chapter 1: Back in 1930...

Edward Breaklight used to be the best. He was one of the top animators at the Warner Bros. Studio and had been thriving with a promising career. He was a born drawer. Since he first learned to use a pencil, he was always creating something on paper. Now at age 31, he was still just as proficient. A tall, good-looking man with fine-cut brown hair, he was in his prime. He had two kids, a son and a daughter. Though his wife had died long ago, he still found joy in both of his children and in his work. He loved his job, which was something few people could say with honesty. Everything was going smooth, his life was turning out just the way he wanted it to.

Until they came along.

He never hated Lon for it. It was an accident. No cartoon character should have ever been that crazy. But somehow, Lon's creations were different. They were a nuisance. They were zany and uncontrollable. They almost tore the studio apart.

They nearly drove him insane.

In the weeks that they had been there, he slowly deteriorated into a nervous-wreck. He never knew when they would appear and cause havoc, and ruin everything he'd worked so hard on. He had tried. Many of the others had left the lot, screaming, and never came back. He had tried to be one of the vigilant ones, had tried to hold his ground. But the stress that came with it was just too much. He couldn't take it. He started slacking in his productivity and eventually lost his job.

His already cracking nerves made it difficult to find work anywhere else. Edward found it increasingly harder and harder to concentrate. Though the terrible trio usually kept to the lot, they were known to spring up almost anywhere, anytime. Money was getting low, he had two kids to provide for. Plus, his health was no longer what it used to be. Anxiety and stress took him to the verge of mental collapse.

At a time when he believed things couldn't get any worse, it happened again.

There was that one night, when after another unsuccessful job hunt, Edward found himself walking home on the dark, empty streets, tired, but his senses alert for the slightest sound of movement. It had already been a long day. His hair was a mess and his clothes disheveled. He was silently grateful that his kids were currently staying with their aunt, and the house would be empty so he could fall in his favorite and just relax.

As he came to round a corner, he suddenly heard a yell and what sounded like trashcans and crates falling over. Before he knew it, he was bowled over by three little figures, landing on his back on the cold ground and practically scared out of his wits. He was about to let out a scream when everything within him seemed to freeze.

There it was, that all too familiar, terrible, toony face, staring right back at him. The face that belonged to the 'leader' of those…things was looking at him, confused and startled.

"Whoops! Sorry mister," the thing said before picking itself up. "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

It was making fun of him, he just knew it. The thing hastily ran off, with the other two in tow, and Edward stared after them. A low, dangerous growl rose to his throat. "Y-Y-You…You ruined my life!"

What he remembered afterwards, when the next morning came, was pretty much a blur. He could recall shakily picking himself off the ground, and then running. Running with so much anger and frustration, he wondered if he had mowed anyone down in the process. He remembered getting home somehow, and he remembered stampeding his way to his desk. After that, all he knew was that he grabbed a sheet of paper and drew. He had no idea what compelled him to draw with such fury, drawing was always a pleasant experience for him. He figured he just needed to vent out his torn-up emotions. It wasn't until the drawing was completed that he finally calmed down enough to realize what he had done.

In shock, and in fear, he ran out of the office and stood motionless it he living room, staring blankly into space. His knees eventually failed him and he collapsed on the couch. That was where he remained until the sun rose the next day.

And now this is where he found himself. He cursed under his breath and placed his face in his hands. Why did that have to happen? Why had he drawn it? As he sat on the sofa thinking back on it, all he could guess was that he finally cracked. All the pent up stress had to come out. And it came out in the exact form that had caused it, and now he had….

Edward did not like where his mind was going. He had drawn…one of them. _It didn't come to life, did it?_ From his place in the living room, he couldn't hear anything. He never heard a sound during the entire night he spent staring emotionlessly at the wall in shock. But he _was_ an animator. He had brought life to things before.

Shakily, Edward stood up on wobbly legs. He had to know for sure. Warily, he walked back to the office, afraid of what he was going to see. Once at the doorway, he peeked in.

The desk lamp was still on, but he didn't detect any kind of movement. He cautiously stepped fully into the doorframe and examined the room. Most of it was dark, the only light coming from the small lamp. The large desk chair was swiveled around, its back facing toward him. In the dim light, he spotted a lone piece of paper on the floor. It must have flown off the desk when he rushed out.

He went forward to pick it up, expecting to see the drawing on the other side of it. As he reached down, he nearly lost his balance from a night of no sleep, and quickly grabbed the arm of the desk chair to catch himself. The chair spun around under the force of his weight and Edward, in absolute terror, fell to the floor anyway.

Curled up in the chair was his drawing, in full flesh, blood, and fur, staring back at him in bewilderment.

Edward screamed, and the creature in the chair flinched as the human fainted.


	3. Awakening

Short update today. Thank you for the reviews on the first chapter!

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**Shadow**

**Part 1  
**Chapter 2: Awakening

When he became fully conscious, it was terribly cold. There he found himself, standing in the middle of a dark room, alone and trembling. He wasn't sure what was going to happen or what he was supposed to do. He wasn't even sure of who he was. He breathed in and out deeply, searching his mind for any explanation of his sudden existence. All he came up with was a name, and a very strange insecure feeling.

The name, he focused on it, reaching out to grab it as if it had been there waiting for him to claim it. He could hear the sound of it in his mind and could almost clearly see it spelled out in letters. "Daz," he muttered awkwardly, testing out the name, _his_ name, on his tongue.

So now he had a name, but nothing else. Except for that weird feeling…

Somewhere, deep down, there was an instinct that sprang to life and told him he was what was called a 'toon' and that someone was responsible for his creation. But where was his creator? He felt pretty sure that when he came into being, there should have been at least someone close by. Instead, he was all alone and it was so quiet. It didn't seem right to him.

He felt his whole body shudder, but he didn't know why. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the soft coat of black fur that covered him for the first time. He felt something twitch behind him and he noticed he had a tail. His feet were white and so was his face, at least from what he could tell when he crossed his eyes to look at his red nose. With a shaking hand, he reached to the top of his head and found long, slender ears. He strained them to search for any sign of sound but he could hear nothing.

The darkness of the room unnerved him and he turned to the only source of light present, a lamp sitting on a table. With his eyes drawn toward it, he went to the large chair near the table and sat in it, bringing his legs up close to his chest.

The cold seemed to close in around him even more and he curled into himself. He didn't like the cold. It wasn't a good feeling. This place wasn't nice either. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He shouldn't have come into existence this way.

Daz shut his eyes and buried his head in his arms. Maybe there was some mistake. Maybe if he shut his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he would go where he was supposed to be. Someplace where there was someone waiting for him. Someplace warm.

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When his eyes decided to open again, he detected movement to his right. Daz lifted his head and nearly felt his heart leap out of his chest when the chair he was sitting in suddenly twirled around. He heard an unpleasant _thud_ and found himself staring into the shocked eyes of another creature. Daz had to fold his ears back as the person before him screamed in fright and then proceeded to pass out on the floor.

Once he was sure his torso wouldn't burst open, Daz peered over the seat of the chair at the person lying on the ground. Something deep in his mind jolted to life and told him that the thing below was a 'human.' His mind also gratuitously told him humans were creators. Daz could only guess that this comatose man was his creator, though he had no idea why the human seemed so frightened of him.

He stared down at the man and decided he didn't like humans much. His creator had short, light brown hair on the top of his head and oddly shaped ears sticking out the sides of his face. He had no fur, leaving his pinkish skin vulnerable and Daz could only imagine what the human was feeling in this cold room.

The man showed no signs of awaking, so Daz slowly crawled off the chair and crouched next to him. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and prodded the human in the chest. No response. Though the man had screamed at him, Daz couldn't help but feel a little relieved at the presence of another within this dark place. He wondered if he should do anything, if he should try to get him more comfortable. Maybe he should find something to cover him with. If this was indeed his creator, didn't he owe him at least that much for bringing him into this world?

Daz was jostled out of his thoughts as the human began to stir. He scooted back on his heels to give the man some room as he slowly but surely awoke. Once fully aware again, the human looked over at Daz, confusion and worry written all over his face. Daz shrunk back, not knowing what to say or do. The human slowly picked himself off the floor and went into a sitting position so he could study the other more carefully.

That weird feeling came back again, crawling up Daz's spine. He didn't like the way the human was staring at him. Daz glanced away nervously, scooting even further backwards from the man.

His creator continued staring at him, and in the dark, Daz noticed the man's lips move like they were trying to form words.

"You are real…" Daz heard him speak.


End file.
